Till Death Do Us Part
by Balongdag
Summary: An explosion on the battlefield brings new life to Sideswipe's spark as easily as it gives deactivation to another; because to gain something there is always something you must lose first, and coping mechanisms don't always bring reality into the world you've created.
1. Till Death

Sideswipe, and many other mechs on base, held a certain, almost belated, unambiguous distaste for one particular Autobot, residing amongst their ranks and stirring up the patience and dislike of everyone.

He was a frontliner, like himself, and Sideswipe found himself scoffing at thought of fighting side by side with him, a mech who would probably choose his own paint colour over the life of his comrades.

Yellow, vicious, arrogant, and downright rude, he was not favoured highly among many mechs. No, he was egotistical, narcissistic to no fault, and spent most of his time getting into fights, sitting in the brig, scowling and buffing out non-existent scratches.

Not many mechs could stand his violent and surly disposition, and as Sideswipe watched him settle alone in a secluded corner of the rec room, he supposed that there was no one who actually would.

He was borderline sociopathic, and Sideswipe didn't bother holding any pity for the mech that had insults thrown at him by brave Autobots, and was on the receiving end of the cold eye by many. But Sunstreaker was all the more happy to return the looks with his own scowl, seemingly only finding anger in the dislike of his fellow Autobots.

Sideswipe had learned by now that he was in no way against throwing punches against his comrades.

For someone so vain and finicky about how he looked, he sure didn't mind getting scratched in exchange for a good fight.

He wondered if he was like that before the war, or if the shrapnel from bombs had done a good job at picking away his sanity as he slowly lost his paintjob to grotty trenches, melee fights and machine gun fire.

Sideswipe vaguely remembered him from the frontlines, when the war had just broken out and they had thrust guns and weapons into civilians' hands and asked them to fight. Not many could, and he remembered the hordes of bodies that had littered the battlefield.

Guilt plagued his recharge every time the memory perked up and became fresh in his processor from a particularly cruel reminder, and remembering the bodies he used as cover, ducking behind them as their armour served as a decent bullet repeller, splatters of energon flying up when some of them nicked the protoform, still made him sick to the stomach.

As if they were anything more than the sandbags he ducked behind when the machine gun fire was particularly heavy.

Sunstreaker had quickly proved himself vicious, but useful on the frontlines, and Sideswipe was forced, like many, to learn to fight. Forced to pick up a gun and pull the trigger, so different from trading and dealing, but it was either that or get ripped apart on the battlefield.

He remembered bunkering down with yellow armour in shallow trenches, where they would stay for vorns, the fighting carrying out longer and longer, until rations were so limited most deactivated from starvation. And as the war drew on, Sideswipe wondered if there was still going to be people dying from natural causes in a vicious civil conflict like this one, but as he watched heavy artillery take out a reckless squadron, he squashed the thought.

Sideswipe was surprised he had even survived this long. Front liners were expendable, easily disposed and easily killed on the battlefield. Running at the enemy never did get you far in a war. It was a hard truth, and those chosen for the frontlines held anxiety in their sparks no matter how skilled the fighter, and the wild, terrified expression in young mechs faces held tight to their faceplates long after they were dead.

But here he was, millions of years later, still with the same bot who snarled at him after a tense battle, held a grim look on face like many others, but held a certain vicious and aggressive air around him that made him more suitable as a Decepticon rather than an Autobot. It had been said before, and many wondered just why Sunstreaker had chosen the Autobots side.

It was only till the crash on Earth that he learned his name, a fat reminder that he was relying on people he barely knew, and hardly trusted.

The war had hardened everyone, and the bot seemed even more aggressive than he was back on Cybertron, and even more willing to bite back at superior officers and pick fights with any one, almost happily ripping them apart, not even a flicker of hesitation in those icy optics.

But Sideswipe supposed that this is what made him Sunstreaker, all too willing to pick on anyone, bigger or small, because his ego demanded that he be seen as the best, better than everyone, and more than willing to brag, or do what it takes to prove himself right.

So, as Sideswipe watched him rip into yet another Autotbot, he concluded that it was all just one big competition for Sunstreaker. Similar to how everyone accused him of considering everything as a game, something to joke about. War wasn't funny, he may have grown to love the battles, almost craved the fighting. But war. He hated the notion of war.

Sunstreaker seemed indifferent about the subject, war seemingly not bothering him, as if he were forged for it, and watching him deftly kill Deceptions, and skilfully dodging artillery, had him wondering if he really was made for battle.

Even outside the battlefield he was vicious, and after seeing him maim more than a couple of bots, most Autobots held at least the tiniest bit of trepidation when dealing with the yellow menace. He, as Ratchet had put it, was like a ticking bomb, ready to go off and rip someone's head off at any moment. And Sideswipe didn't think he was against killing an Autobot.

The greatest act of insubordination, Sideswipe had thought, watching his fellow front-liner growl at Prowl. Something about their patrol route.

It was, as he put it, 'too dusty for my paintjob. Do you know what this will do to my shine? It'll take orns to get that grot out of my joints.'

Prowl shook his head and said something sharply, jabbing a black finger to where Sideswipe was waiting impatiently near the entrance.

Sunstreaker huffed, and as they set out for patrol, Sideswipe found himself at the end of glares, brooding silences and sour complaints throughout their entire route. He came back with his denta grit, optics slitted so tightly he found it hard to see, and an aching processor.

His patrol 'buddy' had made a beeline to the washracks, and Sideswipe instead made his way to Prowls office, dusting off the grit that had built up from his drive while trying to keep his tested patience in check.

* * *

"No."

Sideswipe huffed, "What do you mean 'no'?"

Prowl continued to swipe through his datapad, "I mean no, you cannot and will not change quarters."

"But-"

Prowl glanced up sharply, "No."

Sideswipe slumped back in his chair, faceplates drawn into a rare frown as he sent a pleading look to Prowl, "Please?"

"For the last time, Sideswipe, no," Prowl said simply, eyes narrowed as they observed the now sulking front liner. He placed the datapad down, patience exceeding itself as he faced the solider, "You're acting like a youngling."

Sideswipe scowled, "Easy for you to say. You have your own quarters, you don't have to share."

Prowl withheld the desire to roll his optics, "Then work hard and become an officer."

Sideswipe snorted, "Would you really want me in the command unit?"

"Not really, but that's beside the point. And you've exceeded your visit, so please leave and go back to your assigned quarters."

There was a slight strain to Prowls voice.

The front liner didn't move.

Prowl let out a short sigh, "Please."

Sideswipe grudgingly stood up, stretching as he did, "Well, if I get maimed, I'm blaming you."

Prowl allowed a tiny smirk, "I assumed you were a competent enough fighter to defend yourself?"

Sideswipe stuck out his glossa, a handy gesture he'd picked up from Spike, before turning to leave, shoulders sagging as he vacated the office to make the slow decent back to his newly assigned quarters, dreading to have to share it with his new 'roommate', as the humans would put it.

Empty tanks growling at him, he decided halfway to instead detour from his quarters to stop by the rec-room, grabbing a cube from the dispenser before flopping down next to Smokescreen, who was dealing out cards to Jazz, Bluestreak and surprisingly Ratchet.

"Finally left your cave, Batman?"

"Yes," Ratchet replied, sending a glare to Sideswipe, "Wheeljack threatened to 'improve' my own dispenser if I didn't get out."

Jazz snickered, "Didn't want yours expelling black gunk like Prowls did?"

The rest of them shuddered, it had only happened in Prowls office, but the smell had been so fowl it had floated through the rest of the base, stinking up quarters and the rec room until an evacuation had been ordered.

Sideswipe supposed the rancid smell was worth seeing the look of fury on Prowls face, his hands and bumper coated in the stuff.

Wheeljack (unsurprisingly) had disappeared for a few days, hiding in his lab until the worst of Prowls anger had blown over.

"You in, Sideswipe?" Smokescreen asked as waved the deck around, optic ridge raised.

Sideswipe shrugged, "Yeah, deal me in. Better than going back to my own quarters I suppose."

Bluestreaks doorwings fluttered, "Oh, I heard about that. Haven't you been roomed with Sunstreaker?"

Sideswipe tossed a chip into the middle of the table, "Yup."

Jazz winced in sympathy as he looked down at his own cards, "Tough luck, huh?"

Smokescreen snorted, "You said it, that mech is going to tear your vocaliser out and shove it up your aft."

Sideswipe grimaced even as he laughed, "You think?"

Bluestreak nodded seriously, "Oh yeah, you hear what he did to Gears? Backhanded him so hard he went flying straight into Ironhide. He was in the medbay for ages, right Ratchet?"

Ratchet growled, "Yes, little glitch just doesn't know when to shut his mouth. And that sociopathic sunflower should learn to control his fraggin' temper, sending injured mechs into my bay like I have unlimited supply."

Sideswipe grinned, "Like your temper is any better, Ratch."

The medic grumbled, tossing his cards down, "I fold, and I don't maim the mechs that get on my nerves."

Jazz spluttered in laughter as Sideswipe scoffed, "Yes you do! And I've got the dents to show it."

Ratchet rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, "Well, you're just annoying."

"Wha-, I am not."

Smokescreen nodded, "Yeah, you are."

Bluestreak snickered as the front liner spluttered indignantly, all thoughts of his much-hated roommate gone from his mind.

* * *

Sideswipe left the rec-room with fewer credits than when he came in, and Smokescreen with more than he originally had, much to the rest of the player's chagrin.

There were weary goodnights from all of them, and Sideswipe reluctantly made his way to his quarters for the nights, recharge appealing to his low energy levels.

Bluestreak had followed behind him, chattering about nothing until they reached his door. He offered his own hurried goodbye, a sympathetic look thrown back at him as the gunner left for his own quarters.

Sideswipe shrugged, Sunstreaker wasn't so tough. He was a front liner too, one who didn't cry over the tiniest scratch.

He coded in his password with weary indifference and stepped inside with his usual confidence when the door slid open.

Sunstreaker had his back turned to him, fiddling with something near his berth as Sideswipe trudged over to the adjacent one, flopping down onto the slate with an exhaustion he didn't know he had.

There was a harried silence for a while, the only sound been harsh invents and the whirring of internal gears. Eventually the sound of a cloth buffing armour joined the white noise, and Sideswipe flicked his optics off.

If he were always going to be this quiet, than Sideswipe guessed it couldn't be all that bad.

His words proceeded him, and his thoughts were squashed when Sunstreaker sniffed, snide voice breaking the silence.

"You stink."

Oh.

He had forgotten to go to the washracks to clean off all the dirt from his armour. It had slipped his mind, his own processor too concerned about the notion of bunking with Sunstreaker. And this, was a prime example as to why.

Sunstreaker gave him a snooty look from the corner of his optics, and he almost felt like laughing, "Nice to meet you too."

There was another silence, and Sideswipe could practically see the icy optics roving over him unapprovingly.

"You should go the washracks, you look horrible."

His voice was deep, rumbling throughout the small room as Sideswipe tried desperately to ignore it.

"Or at least buff those scratches out, it would help the symmetric disaster you call a face."

Sideswipe decided in that moment that he really, really hated Sunstreaker.

* * *

Neither held each other highly in their thoughts after that, and both exchanged icy glares and telling scowls often, and Sideswipe would smugly listen to Sunstreakers fist clench every time his own possessions delved off and out from his side of the room to visit the obsessively clean side of their quarters Sunstreaker called his.

Sideswipe found the impeccable organization unnerving, and gave it the side eye every time he walked in, much like the glare Sunstreaker gave his side of the room when he caught sight of the jumbled mess that Sideswipe claimed was his way of 'expressing himself.'

Sunstreaker had snidely told Sideswipe that he wouldn't know expressing himself if it hit him in the face.

Sideswipe wondered what Sunstreaker knew about expressing himself, other than maiming minibots and throwing fits about his waxjob.

Muttering the thought out loud only earned him a sharp punch to the face, and the next time one of his possessions wondered over to the wrong side of the room (a datapad), Sunstreaker had deftly stepped on it. Which, as Sideswipe let out a roar of outrage at the action, had led to an all-out brawl that broke noses and spilt lips, and made Ratchet scream bloody murder when they both came in for repairs.

Sideswipe was fixed first, and he had smugly walked by the still brooding, bleeding and furious front liner who was missing an audio fin, as he was escorted to the brig, where the yellow menace had joined him a couple of orns later, looking ready to murder in the cell across from his.

It had been downhill from there, and Sideswipe gave Sunstreaker a condescending grin from where he sat with his friends as the other frontliner sat in his own corner, far away from the other Autobots, glare in his optics as he sneered back at Sideswipe.

"I think its hate at first sight," Smokescreen had commented, watching as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were once again torn away from each other, an attempt to end the brawl before it could get any worse, Ironhide holding the livid yellow front liner back while Sideswipe cackled, sneer on his face.

Ratchet grunted his agreement, and Bluestreak peered behind them, "Do you think he's okay."

"Sideswipes fine, Blue."

Bluestreak shook his head, "No, I mean Ironhide."

The two turned, and watched in surprise as Sunstreaker delivered a sharp elbow to Ironhide's nasal ridge, the weapons expert howling in outrage as he released the yellow front liner, who launched himself at Sideswipe once more.

Ratchet grumbled under his breath, rubbing his forehead as he slid from his seat, "I'll be waiting in the medbay. Again."

The two flicked their doorwings in goodbye, and continued to stare at the vicious fight rolling at their feet.

"Why doesn't Prowl just assign them to different quarters?" Bluestreak asked, the two Praxians watching the front liners roll around on the ground, Sideswipe with a rather vicious hand on Sunstreaker back armour, servo pulling until the metal let out a screech as it ripped away from Sunstreaker's protoform. Sunstreaker let out a howl, kneeing Sideswipe hard in the groan as he attempted to grab hold of the red front liners helm, spewing seething profanity as he did.

Smokescreen shrugged, "Probably for his own sick entertainment."

* * *

The brig had become so familiar to Sideswipe that he knew how many cracks were in the ceiling, which beds had missing screws and the amount of stains that littered the grey walls.

There wasn't much to do in the brig, and sitting still in stuffy cell with nothing to do had never been Sideswipes forte.

So when the boredom set in, and Sideswipe found himself desperate for any entertainment, his spark twirled mischievously in its casing, and the red front liner grinned, processor whirring in excitement as he turned to instead look at his cellmate.

Sunstreaker had sat himself stiffly on the bench inside the cell, arms crossed tightly over his armour as he glared at Sideswipe, who, after flashing his headlights rudely, happily returned the look.

"So," Sideswipe began, charming grin of his face as he propped his chin on his elbow, "Come here often?"

If there was anything Sideswipe was good at, it was needling everyone around him until he got the reaction he wanted, a talent that he prided, and other mechs hated.

"What kind of question is that?" Sunstreaker eventually snapped, and Sideswipe couldn't help but stare, optics wide as the scowl somehow became deeper. Was it just permanently dinted into his face?

"What?" Sunstreaker barked, noticing Sideswipes aghast staring and growing sick of it almost instantly.

Sideswipe leaned back into his seat, "Nothing, just wouldn't expect someone who loves people to admire them to be shy of a little staring."

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, but chose not to answer, instead stretching his lithe body across the bench, optics flickering as he did.

"Hit a nerve?"

Sunstreaker shifted in his berth, turning over and giving Sideswipe a divine view of a scuffed back that Ratchet had refused to buff out.

Serves him right.

Sideswipe stuck his glossa out, made a rude face, before settling into his own berth, pedes stretched out comfortably as they settled into a strained silence.

Ironhide eventually ambled in, broken nasal ridge newly fixed and no longer leaking energon. He held their rations in both hands, and gave Sunstreakers a particularly violent shove into the cell as he divvied them out, animosity obviously still fresh due to the violent elbow he had received to the face.

Sideswipe picked up the cube, frown on his face as he watched some of the energon slosh out of the sides of the Sunstreakers ration, landing on the concrete below, trickling into tiny cracks and pooling against the sides of the cube.

"Your ration is there," He said after Ironhide had left and Sunstreaker hadn't turned to collect the cube.

Sideswipe held the energon to his lips, watching as Sunstreakers prone form didn't so much as twitch, energon cube sitting abandoned on the floor.

"You're not going to drink it?"

Sideswipe would viciously deny the small smidge of concern that made its way into his vocaliser.

He was ignored once more, and Sideswipe scoffed, downing the rest of his ration as he settled further into the cells berth.

The rest of his brig time was full of tense silence and a sense of broodiness even he could detect in the simmering quiet. The air was stale in the brig, and Sideswipe was beginning to get sick of the sound of his own venting. His pedes twitched for movement, and his possessor itched with the same desire.

"Would you stop doing that?" A voice hissed, and Sideswipe was surprised to find Sunstreaker standing over his still full ration, the first words he had spoken since their first night in the brig.

Sideswipe rose an optic ridge, and belatedly realized he had been tapping his knee up and down, a shaky, impulsive movement he hadn't realized he'd been doing.

He reluctantly slowed his knee, placing a black servo on his thigh, "Sorry."

Sunstreaker huffed, and moved to sit back down, finally reaching for the energon cube.

"Why didn't you drink that before?"

Sunstreaker paused, servos clenching so hard around the cube that he thought it would shatter, "I wasn't hungry."

Sideswipe scoffed, "Seriously?"

Sunstreaker lowered his hand, scowling at Sideswipe.

"Alright, alright. Sorry, jeez," He muttered, averting his optics to instead stare up at the ceiling, hoping something magnificent would pop up in between the cracks and stains to entertain his bored processor.

Sunstreaker watched until Sideswipe turned away, then threw back the cube, gulping down the remnants of the ration until his tanks pinged at him happily.

He tossed the cube to the ground and watched with slight (hidden) amusement as it fizzled when it made contact with the bars.

"Nice."

Sunstreaker glanced up to see that the infernal frontliner was once again staring at him. He ignored him, but out of the corner of his optics watched as Sideswipe picked up his own empty cube to toss it at the energy bars, the more forceful throw making it bounce back with a crackling pop.

The game continued for a while, Sideswipe grinning as the cube made a continuous back and forth motion between the energon bars and himself, the crackling pop growing louder in Sunstreakers audials until he finally growled out a vehement warning to Sideswipe, who stuck his glossa out, but ceased his game.

"So," Sideswipe drawled, once more growing bored in the drawn out silence.

"I really don't want to talk to you." Sunstreaker snapped, allowing himself a small smirk at the taken aback look that had spread across Sideswipes faceplates.

Sideswipe wriggled in his berth, "Sorry, afthole."

Another silence grew long and tense, and Sideswipe narrowed his optics as Sunstreaker settled back into his berth with some small level of content, "What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you can't shut your mouth," Sunstreaker growled, and Sideswipe rolled his optics.

"No, I'm serious, what is it? The war affected everyone, but you don't see me or any other Autobot going around attacking every mech around the corner."

Sunstreaker paused, and Sideswipe thought he saw something like sorrow flicker in those icy optics, but it was gone as quick as it came, and Sideswipe was once again on the receiving end of a heavy scowl.

"I don't-"Sunstreaker began, but cut himself off at Sideswipe scoff.

"What?"

"Don't give me that bullshit."

Sunstreaker paused, processing the human swear before icy optics narrowed once more, "I'm not obligated to answer."

Sideswipe shrugged, "I know, but I was hoping I'd get to know why you're such a fragger."

Sunstreaker ignored him, averting his gaze to the grotty ceiling as Sideswipe stared expectantly.

"No? Didn't think so."

Sunstreaker felt a dangerous thrum of anger burst from his spark, and he clenched his fists. He didn't like people shoving their noses into his business, venturing where they didn't belong, or asking personal questions that he wasn't obligated to answer but they expected one anyway. It wasn't their business, and Sunstreaker wanted to know just why so many people loved to know about things that didn't involve them.

He was growing weary of the conversation, and an irritable sensation washed over his spark, bristling his armour as his processor strained to stay patient when he desperately craved to just be alone and left to his thoughts.

Sideswipe continued to babble, and Sunstreaker tuned him out, fingers twitching at his side.

He could hear someone bustling around outside of the brig, and muffled voices floated in, mingling with whatever Sideswipe was rambling about, overflowing in his audials as his spark started to thump harder, all of the noises becoming overwhelming in his processor.

"Sunstreaker!"

The yellow front liner jerked in his seat, unware that his fingers had started trembling and that his ventilations had become jerky and shallow, armour almost rattling against his protoform.

He looked up to see Sideswipe staring worriedly at him, Ironhide standing near the doors with a similar expression.

Humiliation washed over him and he stood up, "Fine, not that it concerns any of you," He took a breath, and huffed out hot air, "Now, are you going to open up or not, I've had enough of annoying company for now."

Ironhide scowled, but let the energy bars fall, and Sunstreaker stomped passed him, not bothering to look at Sideswipe as he kept his optics low, armour almost itching as he fled to the halls and back to the seclusion of his quarters.

* * *

Sideswipe didn't know what to think.

He'd never seen anyone tense up like that, seemingly ignorant to the world around them as they were suddenly lost in their own processor. Astray in whatever labyrinth their mind had trapped them in.

Sunstreaker had obviously been panicking, and Sideswipe didn't have a clue why.

He followed loosely in the direction that Sunstreaker had hurriedly took, pace much slower as he pondered over what had happened in the brig.

He felt slightly bad, and didn't want to admit to his own spark that he had been worried as the usually confident, arrogantly superior mech lost all composure, a wild panic in his optics that Sideswipe had never seen.

Did he overwhelm him? Sideswipe didn't understand how a couple of questions could do that to a mech.

He made it back to his quarters feeling slightly guilty, and Sunstreaker was already back, sitting on his berth as more controlled, softer ventilations flowed in and out of his vents, face vacant as he stared at nothing.

Sideswipe watched Sunstreaker warily, heading over to sit on top of his desk, expecting a violent hiss to tell him to stop staring, or to frag off.

Nothing came, and Sideswipe gingerly sat down on the desk, aft plates bumping with the dented metal until he leant comfortably against it.

"Hey," He began awkwardly, "Uh, are you alright?"

Sunstreakers optics flickered briefly to meet Sideswipes own, icy ones meeting baby blue, and they stared until Sunstreaker averted his optics, uncomfortable.

"Fine," He said shortly, bite to his tongue, though it came out weary and Sideswipe raised an optic ridge.

"Look, uh, sorry if I did-"

Sunstreaker suddenly rose from his seat, and Sideswipe jerked back as Sunstreaker strode over to him, denta clenched and optics angry, "Look, its nothing, so get out of my business, and stop hovering where you're not wanted."

He shoved a finger into Sideswipes chest plating, leaning forward as he seethed, their helms so close he could feel the warm ventilations brush over his face, Sideswipes optics devoid of anything as he stared back at Sunstreaker.

The space quickly grew tense, and Sunstreaker stood back, uncomfortable with being so close to someone.

"I think," Sideswipe began as he pushed away from the desk, "If you'd let someone help you, you'd feel a whole lot better."

Sunstreaker could almost laugh, "I'd feel better if you left me alone."

Sideswipe paused, optics considering as he stared at Sunstreaker, "Okay, but doesn't it bother you that you don't have anyone, a friend, to talk to this stuff about? Cause I sure as hell wouldn't enjoy being as lonely as you are."

Sideswipe tilted his head and sighed, "But I'll leave you alone."

"I'm not lonely," Sunstreaker called, but his words fell flat to silent air as Sideswipe slid out the door and down the hall.

"I'm not," He said softly, even as the emptiness of the room enveloped him.

* * *

Sunstreaker wasn't as particularly brutal as he usually was for the rest of the week. He was still quiet, avoiding everyone's optics and still offering scowls to whoever it was he came across, but he seemed almost mellowed, and Sideswipe wondered how long it would last.

He expected aggressiveness, even more hate from the yellow front liner at his abrasive, almost hurtful words, and when nothing came, Sideswipe started to feel slightly guilty about being so blunt.

Sideswipe wished that Sunstreaker would have given him the chance to apologise, or at least told him whether he accepted it or not, instead of telling him to frag off and leave him alone.

Sideswipe did just that at first, left him to his own devices and didn't bother to even attempt conversation when they were in their quarters together.

He tried to find the usual hate and contempt he found for his fellow front liner, but it seemed to have been sucked away, and the snide looks and the angry scowls became less annoying, almost funny to him as the time drew out, and a new found curiosity assaulted his sensors.

They still tip toed around each other, aggression hot in the air, but Sideswipe found himself less inclined to want to punch Sunstreaker in the mouth when he opened his vocaliser.

Their patrols were still filled with sour complaints that rotted his aduials, but he didn't bother to snap back, or to tell him to shut up. He stayed quiet, sometimes even offering his own chatter.

Sideswipe eventually stopped sneering at Sunstreaker when he and his friends saw the yellow front liner, and instead offered him snarky smirks that were almost always returned with a scowl. He still might be a fragger, but Sideswipe just couldn't find the animosity.

It irritated him at times, that an arrogant, rude mech he once couldn't stand, had built himself up in his processor, so much that he just couldn't hold on to that lingering hate.

There was still a fair amount of dislike, for sure, and Sideswipe didn't stop his own snarky comments from making an appearance when Sunstreaker was being particularly cranky.

It just made it all the more fun.

Because to him, it was all just one big game. Everything was if you thought about it, and just like Sunstreaker had become a part of Sideswipes game, Sideswipe had become a part of Sunstreakers hostile, slightly competitive, competition.

They both held out of the ordinary, almost eccentric drives to make everything around them, the mechs around them, into their own little isolated gates of their mind.

Maybe it was a way of coping. With what, Sideswipe didn't know, nor did he care. He just knew it was fun to wheedle Sunstreaker, to snark back at him, to brawl.

Since day one it had been fun, apart of his game, and when the game suddenly paused in his processor, when suddenly there was no hate, no true violence or hatred in their brawls, the game became serious. Dangerous even.

So as he stood in the rec-room, optics flicking between Sunstreaker and his own friends, his spark thumping darkly, and his processor whirred with a silent answer to his invisible question.

Sunstreaker was sitting in his own secluded corner, nursing his own ration while icy optics glared at his surroundings.

Apart of it.

His friends were clumped around a small table, laughing and crowing at each other, optics cheerful and friendly.

Dispatched from it.

With one glance back at Sunstreaker, who was still glaring at his surroundings, cube tight in his hand as he sat tense in his seat, Sideswipe made his decision.

"Hello."

Sunstreaker glanced up in surprise as Sideswipe settled down in the seat opposite him, smile on his face as he sipped at his cube.

"What the frag are you doing?" Sunstreaker asked suspiciously.

Sideswipe shrugged, swallowing down another gulp of energon, "Drinking my ration, what are you doing?"

Sunstreaker glanced down to his own half empty cube and shrugged.

"You can sit over there, if you want, with me I mean." Sideswipe offered after a while.

Sunstreaker glanced over to the large group of Autobots that Sideswipe was gesturing to, the loud mechs being the current source of all the noise in the rec room.

"I'd rather not."

Sideswipe frowned but nodded, looking back down to the swirling pink contents of his cube.

Sunstreaker sighed through his nose, reluctantly opening his mouth, "But thanks, I guess."

Sideswipe perked up instantly, grin wide across his face as he beamed at him.

Sunstreaker almost felt like smiling back.

Almost.

After that Sunstreaker became slightly friendlier, in his own way.

They weren't exactly friends, because Sideswipe still knew jack shit about the mech, only that he was obviously introverted to the max.

They still held a tense relationship, and the occasional snarl from Sunstreaker was still there, but there was still… something.

Sideswipe didn't exactly know what it was, or how to put a name on their frankly weird relationship.

They were both pawns in each other's minds, but they both seemed to love it, and it seemed to appease to their own desires.

But as Sunstreaker offered him a reluctant smile, Sideswipe decided that it must be something more than a game or competition, more than something fun or something to compete with.

Or maybe it wasn't. At this point, Sideswipe didn't care.

"Here."

Sideswipe glanced up, Sunstreaker was standing in front of him, frame tense as he stepped from pede to pede, two energon cubes in his hand, one of them extended to Sideswipe.

"Thanks," He mumbled, taking the cube gratefully and nursing the warm drink in one hand.

"Some fight, huh?" Sunstreaker said as he sat next to Sideswipe, optics hovering on the empty rec-room.

"Yeah," Sideswipe huffed softly, downing the cube in one go, Sunstreaker following suit, empty tanks grumbling and their joints crackling as they shifted in their seats.

"You fought alright." Sunstreaker said after a while, and Sideswipe snickered.

"Thanks," He grinned, "You too."

Sunstreaker puffed out his armour, "Of course I did, and I look good when I do it."

Sideswipe rolled his optics, relaxing back into his seat, "Sure thing."

"You should teach me how to do that thing, with the seekers, I mean."

Sideswipe glanced over at Sunstreaker, "You mean Jet Judo?"

Sunstreaker smirked, "Is that what you call it?"

"Well, yeah. Cool, isn't it?"

Sunstreaker shrugged, "I suppose."

Sideswipe shot him a smug look, "You know it is, or else you wouldn't want to know how to do it."

Sunstreaker huffed, "I know how to do it, you just jump on a seeker and ride it."

Sideswipe shook his head, "There's more to it than just riding them!"

He thought for a second, "There's schematics."

Sunstreaker gave him a disbelieving look, "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Sideswipe leaned back in his seat, lifting his cube in a smug cheer.

The cube went tumbling from his hand, startling both of them, and he jerked in his seat as his battle programing rose to the front of his processor when the blaring alarm that warned of imminent attack became loud in their audials, washing out all other sounds as flashing red lights rippled over them, the alarm continuing to pound throughout the base.

Sunstreaker stood from his seat, knocking his cube over as he received a ping from Prowl, "Decepticons."

Sideswipe followed after Sunstreaker as he ran from the room, already unsubpacing his weapon as they maneuvered through the halls, "Decepticons? But we just fought them."

"Tell that to them," Sunstreaker muttered, optics scouring over the small number of mechs that had gathered outside of the Arc, the rest too injured or unconscious to fight.

"This isn't going to be good," Sideswipe muttered, optics following Sunstreakers gaze.

Less soldiers meant a harder battle, which almost always resulted in loss. Ratchets medical supplies were already low enough without more Autobots landing themselves in the medbay.

Squadrons were sought out, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker with Trailbreaker as they made haste to the coordinates given out, wheels skidding across dry land as they transformed.

"What the frag?" Sunstreaker voiced as they stepped forward, gazing over the empty field.

"Yeah, uh, Prowl?"

Prowl followed their line of sight, battle computer obviously whirring in deft thought as sharp optics looked out for anything out of the norm.

"Alright," He said after a while, "Spread out, and be careful. You three, stay here. Sideswipe, take your group north, but don't stray too far and keep your comm. Units open at all times."

Sideswipe nodded, "Yes, sir."

"If only Optimus were here," Trailbreaker muttered, and Sideswipe nodded in agreement.

Everyone always felt safer when the big mech was around, an obvious defender from Megatron, but someone who you knew would always try his best to have everybody's back, and would scour the entire battlefield before leaving a soldier behind.

Their leader had been heavy out of action after a particularly nasty blow from Megatron's cannon, missing his spark casing by only an iota of space. Ratchet had worked himself into a frenzy in the medbay, barking orders in his own ball of stress as he tried to stabilize the Prime.

"I don't see anything," Sunstreaker called, strafing over to a small hill and peering down it, gun raised and cocked in case anything attempted to jump out.

"Be careful." Sideswipe called as Sunstreaker started to make his way down the hill, steps steady as he descended.

"Something seems off, "Trailbreaker muttered as Sideswipe moved to follow Sunstreaker, teetering over the edge of the hill as he peered down.

"You think?"

"No, something else seems… Oh forget it, it's probably just me, "Trailbreaker shook his head, and wandered further over to Bumblebee's group.

"See anything?"

"Nothing but dirt," Sunstreaker called back, foot nosing at a mound at the bottom of the hill. The piles stretched far across the hills floor, abnormal amongst the green grass.

Sideswipe tilted his head, gun held tight in his hands as Sunstreaker moved to take a step on one of the piles.

Optics widened and Sideswipe screamed out to late, stumbling down the hill just as Sunstreakers foot stood down, leaving a tense moment of white noise, buzzing static in their audials, and the small seconds between impending death and the present seemed like an eternity.

The mound exploded into fire, sending dirt and to his own horror, yellow armour flying.

Sideswipe tried to steady himself, pedes shaky and fire licking at his face as the hill crumbled beneath him. Shrapnel had torn through his armour, and his limbs were weak and shredded.

He continued to fall, straight into where Sunstreaker had stepped as heat washed over him, hot pain crippling his sensors as his joints rippled, armour sizzling as he landed heavily.

His chest felt tight, and he struggled to ventilate air through his body, chest heaving as his spark dropped in its casing.

Sideswipe wondered if it had been breached, and if the orb was slowly leaking out of its casing, trickling past cracked plating and torn seams to leave him in deactivation.

Cold spread through the usually warm orb, and it jerked around, as if something was pulling at it, making it become heavier and heavier in its casing.

His optics could only see rising smoke, and his armour could feel the rough pain of flames tickling at his armour.

A sharp breath left his mouth, and he coughed and heaved as he intaked a mouthful of smoke, trying to feebly access his comm units.

Static assaulted his audials and panic gripped his too heavy spark as the pain set in, until eventually his relay buffers set into gear, and all feeling was lost in his limbs.

Sideswipe continued to stare up, unable to move his head, and he watched as billowing smoke was wisped up into the sky, making a shaky white trail in the blue of the sky.

Spark whirring in its casing, he choked out a sob, and his own spark roared in confusion as he glanced down at a shredded red forearm, sitting half buried in dirt.

What?

His optics began to short out, systems failing as his processor fell into a woozy, almost unconscious state, and the intruding feeling was lost as black gripped at the edge of his vison, dotting the sky until he fell into the abyss.

* * *

When he woke, it was to swallowing darkness and the smell of sterilized medical equipment. His spark thumped in its casing, the beeping of life support and the tell-tale feeling of an IV in his arm calming his quaking nerves.

His memory was foggy at best, and attempting to rifle through his data banks to find what happened only succeeded in giving him a helm ache.

His fingers twitched, and he groaned at the twinge of pain that shot through his body at the small movement.

"Sideswipe?"

The voice was muffled, like someone was calling his designation through thick glass, and his audials strained to identify the voice.

"Sideswipe?"

The words became clearer, and Sideswipes optics rebooted, bursting into an abundance of bright light that had him flinching.

His vision eventually cleared, foggy edges retreating from his sight as Ratchet came into view, peering down into his optics as he tapped at his datapad.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Ratchet grumbled, gruff as ever, but a gentle hand came to land on his shoulder, squeezing the metal as Sideswipe heaved and let out a dry cough.

Sideswipe offered a flimsy smile, and Ratchet gave his shoulder one last squeeze before letting go, optics flicking back to the datapad in his hand.

"You might feel like slag for the next couple of orns, and you're confined to the medbay until I say so, got it?"

Sideswipe tried to open his mouth to complain, but all that came out was bunch of garbled static.

The datapad was tossed onto the berth, and Ratchet leant down to fiddle with something near his throat, "Here, that better?"

Sideswipe coughed, clearing his vocaliser as he grinned up at the medic, "Thanks, Ratch."

Ratchet rolled his optics, "Just don't go getting yourself slagged that bad again, alright?"

"I defiantly will, and I'm surprised at your restraint, Ratchet. No slap to the helm, no flying wrenches? You feeling alright?"

Ratchet scowled, "Trust me, if you were in better shape you'd have about a dozen new dents by now. Heck, I'd be wackin' you with your own dismembered leg."

Sideswipe grinned, "Ah, that's more like it." He paused, suddenly hesitant, there was an anxiety in his spark that he couldn't explain, and he did his best to push the feeling away, "So, uh, what exactly happened?"

Ratchet paused, "You don't remember?"

Sideswipe shook his head and raised an optic ridge.

"It was a setup, Decepticons planted mines everywhere, some hidden better than others, and Sunstreaker was the unlucky bugger that stepped on one. The explosion took the both of you out, wasn't much left of you to put back together when I found you, but I managed."

Sideswipe winced, and was once again thankful for the neutral buffers numbing all of what had to be excruciating pain thrumming through his lines, "Was my jetpack alright?"

An orange hand shoved his face back into the berth, "Get some rest."

Sideswipe snickered, but propped himself up on his elbow as the medic began to walk away, "Hey, is Sunstreaker alright?"

Ratchet paused, one hand twitching by his side as he sighed, "Uh, we tried- I tried my best, but he was just too close to the explosion. Sorry, kid."

The medic offered him a half sympathetic glance, as if it were his best friend or an old academy buddy he'd lost, before retreating into his office.

Sideswipe dropped his elbow and leant back into the berth, shocked.

Deactivated?

His spark gave a jolt of panic, seemingly from nowhere, and he rubbed his chest.

Some of his friends were still in the medbay, recharging, various injuries littering their frame, and he shrunk back into his berth, finding himself without a care as a newfound sorrow leaked into his spark.

He and Sunsreaker hadn't been close, nor were they exactly friends, but there was still connection, and he couldn't help but grieve over it.

His spark was twisting in its casing, bumping and spinning around so hard it began to form a dull ache in his chest.

His casing still felt heavy, like it had shrunk and his spark had grown.

Something he'd have to mention to Ratchet the next time he saw him, but whatever Ratchet had inserted into the line was doing its duty, and soon he was drifting off into a restless recharge, spark twitching restlessly in its casing.


	2. Infernal Solitude

Supposedly, when somebody dies, they cease to exist, and when they cease to exist nothing is left of them.

Obviously.

Except for that little bit of their being that made their entire entity into something living, unique in its own way.

Their essence.

The little bits of them that made them who they are, found in the strangest places, not always visible, but always there.

Like those certain smells that'd bring old memories fresh to your processor when you inhaled.

But sometimes that little bit of essence will hold on a little too tight.

Sure it seems impossible, but Sideswipe was living on a planet with little talking, squishy organics. So, really, was it that unbelievable?

Maybe it was all in his head, or perhaps he was dead, deactivated like Sunstreaker, or lying dormant in berth in the real world while medics try to desperately bring him out of a coma.

But wherever he was, real or fake, it sure as hell felt like it really was there.

* * *

"Sideswipe."

The gruff, yet surprisingly gentle voice, broke through his thoughts, and he jerked his head to the side, "Yes?"

Ratchet took a hesitant step forward, servo reaching out to grasp the door frame, "You've been in here a while."

Sideswipe huffed a short sigh, gears whirring as his joints protested the weight put on them, "I know."

"Didn't realize you two were so close."

"We weren't," Sideswipe said shortly, and brought his gaze back to the grey, lifeless frame that lay dormant in front of him.

"Then what's got you bothered?" Ratchet asked, moving over to stand next to the front liner.

Sideswipe shrugged, words failing him as he continued to stare at what was once icy blue, bright, _alive_ optics.

Ratchet heaved a sigh, uncharacteristically docile, and his optics dropped to Sunstreakers deactivated frame, guilt following his gaze as he thought back to the exact moment the spark had guttered, the moment he had failed to save him.

"It wasn't your fault, you know. You can't save everyone."

Ratchets optics flickered up to meet Sideswipe. The front liner was frowning at him, so out of place on his faceplates it sent an uncomfortable shiver through his spark.

"I know that," Ratchet huffed, servos twitching at his sides.

Sideswipe didn't bother to reply, instead sliding down the wall as his pedes finally gave out from underneath them, joints straining from the continuous weight.

Ratchet was instantly by his side, grasping his arm and gently lowering him to the ground. Sideswipe jerked his servo from Ratchets grip, shaking off the medic as he rested against the wall.

"The frag is wrong with you?" Ratchet growled, his usual bark returning.

"Nothing," Sideswipe eventually grumbled, hydraulics hissing as he readjusted his position on the floor, "I'm just tired."

Ratchet huffed, "And injured, you should be in your berth resting."

"I'll go back in soon, just give me a klik."

At Ratchets unconvinced glare, he sent a pleading look, trying to hold back a wince of pain when he shifted his leg, "Please?"

Ratchet optics narrowed, but his shoulders drooped, "Alright, fine. But I'll be back here in a breem to drag your aft back if I need to!"

Sideswipe offered a half grin, "Wouldn't doubt it."

The smile faded almost as soon as Ratchet slid out of the room, spark heavy in its casing as his optics were drawn back to Sunstreakers prone form.

He rubbed his chest, spark whirring as he shifted uncomfortably. The orb felt even larger, as if his spark casing was in the process of shrinking itself, and it left him with the uncomfortable sensation of being weighed down by his own body.

Sideswipe let his helm fall heavily backwards, landing with a thunk and sending a small burst of pain through his head.

He sighed, and switched off his optics, letting himself sit weightlessly in his own darkness, listening to his spark beat hard in his chest.

A black servo reach out, as if it had a mind of its own, and continued to stretch until it came in contact with cold armour. Fingertips deftly tapped around it, lightly skittering of the surface until he found delicate seams that had been ripped and torn apart. He ran his servo over the rough protoform, feeling every bump and tear, reveling in the feeling of smooth fingertips running over rough armour.

His processor jerked, sending him falling out of his trance as it kicked into gear, and he pulled his servo away so quickly his gears strained and squealed in protest.

There was white noise in his audials, blocking out his own jumbled thoughts as he scrambled up the wall in a blind panic, his spark practically bursting with unfathomable horror, his back plating scraping across metal as he hurriedly onlined his optics.

Sideswipe let out a shaky breath, ventilations hot and fast as his armour trembled. He glanced down at his chest, to where his servo was trembling by his side.

"What the fraggin' hell," He whispered, and his spark demanded that he returned his gaze back to the deactivated frame in front of him, and his servos twitched.

He stretched them out, letting the gears crack and groan, before drawing the servo back into fist, clenching tightly as another shaky sigh escaped his lips.

Sideswipe grunted as he forced his legs to push himself up into a standing position, servo grasping the wall roughly as his equilibrium soared and sent twinges of nausea through his frame.

He stumbled back into the medbay, ignoring the worried glance of Ratchet and the remaining mechs in the bay, dropping heavily to his berth and letting his head rest comfortably on the pillow as a relieved sigh escaped his lips.

He was okay.

A lie, but his processor lapped at it, even if his spark shook in protest.

Why were they looking at him like he had lost someone important? As if he had lost a friend, a colleague, a brother.

The thought sent him reeling from the berth, so out of nowhere it had his own processor spinning in confusion as panicked breaths escaped his ventilations. He thrashed, mind at loss and spark in a blind panic.

Why? He was fine, nothing was wrong.

His hand reached out, knocking over the IV stand and countless other medical equipment as his spark vehemently protested, tugging until he was gasping in a panic that didn't quite feel like his.

Ratchet was there, talking in hurried but hushed tones, hands wavering over his body as if he wanted to comfort but didn't know how.

It was fine. They weren't close. They weren't friends. They weren't anything.

Something pinched his neck, and his servo came up to feebly bat away the offending needle. His fingers were grasped and softly squeezed, and his optics flickered as his processor started to drift, his limbs becoming heavier until he finally, blessedly, he fell into forced shutdown.

No one close to him had died. He was okay.

* * *

He was not okay.

His spark felt like a rock in his chest, a heavy-weight that bumped around and made it difficult to ventilate air in and out of his systems.

Sideswipe tried to ignore the sensation, unwilling to go to Ratchet about something so small, something that would hopefully be gone after an orn of proper resting. Especially after his 'scene' in the medbay.

He had being embarrassed and confused. His processor didn't remember much, or what had caused it. But he had caused quite the scene, and he denied the accusations that something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Sure, he had gone into what Ratchet had called 'one big fragging panic attack,' but he had come down from it, and he awoke fine.

Maybe a little shaky, nervous behind his line of knowledge, and a little tired.

But he was fine, it would get better.

To his own surprise, it didn't, and the next morning he ambled down to the monitor room for his shift with his spark burning and irritation on his processor.

He didn't want to socialize, a thought that surprised his processor but soothed his spark, and he couldn't bring himself to produce his usual jubilant chatter. His vocaliser stayed tightly shut, and he couldn't muster up the willpower to maintain his jokes, and his antics. He could barely even manage a smile, and that had his spark pumping in panic more than the current condition of the aching orb.

Sideswipe could practically feel the pity of sympathetic optics as he offered a shaky smile. He didn't know what they were sorry for, why they felt bad for him. Sunstreaker was just another Autobot. He hadn't been attached.

If it were about the explosion, well, Sideswipe had taken worse.

Front liners always did.

So when Smokescreen next asked Sideswipe how he was doing, in that psychological, evaluating tone of his, to his own surprise, and Smokescreens, he had snapped at him. A venomous growl to leave him the frag alone. He had hissed through clenched denta that he was fine, and sat the remainder of his monitor duty in a seething silence.

Ratchet was still himself, growly and surly about everything, but he still cast gentle optics on Sideswipe, and told him that it would be okay.

What would be okay?

He was okay, he was fine. He didn't need people treating him like glass just because of some injury on the battlefield. It happened all the time, what made this one different, he didn't know, and it still baffled Sideswipe.

Yes, Sunstreaker had deactivated. But it shouldn't have been affecting him to the extent it supposedly was. To have people give him sympathetic stares like he'd lost someone that mattered to him.

No, Sunstreaker was just another Autobot. The sadness was there for every mech that died on their side, but that true attachment? The one where if a loved one dies it's a sobbing, broken sparked mess. That wasn't Sideswipe, Sunstreaker wasn't like that to him.

And the more he thought about, and the more people that kept acting like he was, sent an anger through him he rarely felt. The kind that was reserved only for Decepticons.

Who were they to stick their noses into his business?

If he said he was fine, he was fine, and Sideswipe wanted to know just why so many mechs just wouldn't take his answer seriously, to the point they were delving themselves so far into his own life that they started acting like they had the right.

They didn't, and Sideswipe told them as much. Soft answer that he was fine turned into barks to leave him alone if that's all they were going to talk about.

Because he was fine, and he would prove it.

"I'm taking you off duty."

Sideswipe straightened in his seat, "What, why?"

"Well, for one, you haven't been doing the correct, or enough work for that matter, when on duty, and you've been lashing out at your fellow Autobots, so Ratchet has deemed you unfit for any duty. He's ordered you to rest, with no strenuous activities for at least a deca-cycle."

"Why?"

"Because your impudence has become intolerable."

Sideswipe frowned.

Maybe if they just left him alone and minded their own business, he'd be fine and wouldn't have to tell them off.

He slunk back into his seat, spark thrumming in irritation.

"A deca-cycle?"

Prowl just offered him a tight nod.

"Why didn't Ratchet just tell me himself?"

Prowl scowled, "Because he's busy."

"But I'm fine, I'm recovering, it's not like I'm on my last legs you know."

The second in command sighed, and straightened an already neat pile of datapads, "Smokescreen has seconded his order, so Sideswipe you'll just have to do as told, and improve."

Sideswipe leaned back into his seat, "Improve what?"

Prowl face went blank, and he looked as if her were searching his processor for an appropriate answer.

Sideswipe scowled. If it was something involving him, he had a right to know.

Didn't he?

After another few kliks of silence from Prowl, Sideswipe hiked an expectant optic ridge, "Well?"

His spark gave a particularly hard jerk, as if a piece of it were trying to detach, and his fingers twitched.

Prowl must have caught the strained look on his faceplates, and he leaned forward, a flash of concern catching the light of his optics, "Are you alright? Maybe you should go to the medbay, rest there ins-"

"I'm not going to the medbay. I'm fine, I swear. I feel great."

Prowl huffed, "Then why have you being so surly towards your crewmates?"

Sideswipe shrugged, "What? A guy can't have an off day."

"More like an off orn. Sideswipe, Smokescreen was only trying to help."

Sideswipe groaned, "Help with what? Like I keep telling you and everyone else, I am fine."

The last word came out as a hiss, and he stood abruptly from his seat, storming without another word from Prowls office, a blind anger that had his thoughts jumbled as he stomped through the base, not stopping until he had reached his quarters.

Thankfully, Prowl hadn't followed.

Sideswipe new he probably shouldn't have been that rude to a superior officer, the second in command at that, but his temper had been particularly short since he had awoken in the medbay, and he was sick of mechs acting like something was wrong.

He was fine, Sunstreaker was the dead one. Sunstreaker was the one who wouldn't be returning to the Ark, who wouldn't be there on the frontlines anymore.

His spark spun angrily in its casing, and he gasped as it jerked, pulling harshly until he stumbled and grasped the wall for stability.

Sideswipe groaned, armour trembling as his spark twitched and pulled, sending his equilibrium into a dizzied, nausea filled frenzy.

The grip released, and his spark snapped back into place, like someone was pulling string, playing and tugging with his spark like a puppet. Expect this was his very being, the thing that gave him life.

He rubbed his chest plating, suddenly nervous as he searched for a plausible reason as to why his spark felt like it was guttering.

A shuddering breath was invented, and he stumbled into his quarters.

So painstakingly empty.

No.

He shook his head, and cleared wayward thoughts from his processor.

He collapsed onto his berth, and tried to steady his ventilations as his optics focused his vision on the dented wall in front of him.

It was the result of a particularly nasty brawl that had broken out between himself and Sunstreaker, where fists had met their mark, until an elbow was deftly dodged to instead embed itself into the wall.

He could still see the little bits of yellow paint mingling with the grey metal, scraps of it that hadn't been removed from the wall.

Sideswipe spark clenched again, and he sent a burst of his own annoyance, his spark shoving it back at him as he gasped.

…What the frag.

He wiggled in his berth, attempting to self-diagnose the problem. His HUD came up blank and his head clunked back into the wall behind him.

Great.

It was probably nothing then.

He sent a scowl to his chest, and settled back comfortably into his berth, optics scanning the room.

Sideswipe didn't know what to do with Sunstreakers belongings, and the command unit hadn't been inclined to clear them out or at least tell him where they would go in storage.

Not many of Sunstreakers possessions were sitting out in plain sight, and Sideswipe concluded that most of his belongings resided in the multitudes of boxes living under his berth.

Curiosity tingled at his spark, but he ignored the urge to riffle through them.

He supposed it would be disrespectful, and the jerk of irritation from his spark confirmed otherwise.

Sideswipe wondered if there were any particularly special items that Sunstreaker would have wanted with him when he was put to rest.

No one knew, so Sunstreaker had been buried alone, and it was so un-Cybertronian the thought had him scoffing. The fact that he had been buried caused scepticism among many of the Ark members, himself included. But Spike had informed Optimus that the dead were often buried in the ground, something most people did on Earth, a respectful way to dispose of a body while remembering it. So, Sunstreaker had been dug a large hole, and buried in it.

Sideswipe found it slightly ironic, considering that Sunstreaker had thrown fits at the slightest touch of dust on his finish, and probably would have screamed bloody murder if he were alive to see his body covered in mounds of it.

His spark twitched, and his processor sent blurry memory of a yellow pede coming down on a pile of dirt.

Sideswipe gasped, and his optics flickered to black.

He could almost feel the fiery ember on his plating, melting and tearin-

"Sideswipe!"

He jerked, an awkward convulsion that had his servos scrambling as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He glanced around with wide optics, helm swing this way and that as he looked for the owner of the voice.

His quarters remained empty, and Sideswipe stared unseeingly at the berth across from his.

His memory of the day was still foggy, processor only replaying certain scenes from the explosion when he was recharging, or straining himself in an attempt to remember.

If the nightmares that tore him out of recharge were anything to go by, then Sideswipe was glad he didn't remember.

The little bits he did remember had him shaking, and he berated himself over such a trivial weakness. He was a front liner, a soldier. The first to run at the enemy, and the last to leave the battlefield. A mere explosion, a mine in the ground, the death of a comrade wasn't supposed to do this to him.

So he kept brushing it off, because it was nothing. And he told his processor and spark as much.

One half of his spark always seemed to agree, while the other pulsed irritably, rebelliously twisting and pulling until he was left with no breath.

He'd convince himself to the day he deactivated that he was fine, that Sunstreaker didn't matter, that it was just a minor setback, something to be fixed. Something that would go away.

Because he knew it would, it had to.

Or so he told himself.


	3. Death Grants No Mercy

_Funerals seemed to be the gloomiest part of any human culture, and as Sideswipe watched Spike, his father and Carly all gather by Optimus feet in their black attire and solemn faces, he wondered if all their bright, obnoxious_ colours _were really suited for something like this._

 _A quick search about the human custom brought him to the many film portrayals, most showing the days of funerals to be rainy and miserable, to fit with the melancholy day. But a quick glance at his own surroundings had him wondering why the weather was so cheery for a day that was supposed to be horrible, and the sun shining off their finish and spring flowers blooming in the fields just didn't match up._

 _But Sideswipe supposed that it was just how it was, and that the sun shining for such a surly mech was just Primus showing his sense of humour._

 _A rapid pulse from his spark brought his attention back to himself, and he subconsciously rubbed at his chest._

 _His spark was worming around in its casing again, heavier than yesterday as it thumped around, causing pricks of pain to assault his sensor net and ache his circuits, an almost burning sensation flickering up to the right side of his spark._

 _Sideswipe did his best to ignore the pain, shifting discretely as he stood behind Prowl and Ironhide._

 _He was a frontliner, he could handle a little pain. Even it was making itself more apparent with each passing orn._

 _A soft hand landed on his arm, and he instantly jerked it back, optics narrowing as he glanced back._

 _Ratchet was staring at him, flicker of surprise glinting across his optics as he lifted his servo away._

 _Sideswipe's expression softened, and he sighed, "Sorry."_

 _"It's alright," Ratchet murmured, coming to stand next to the red Autobot, and despite himself, Sideswipe couldn't stop from tensing up._

 _"I understand."_

 _'Understand what,' Sideswipe thought gloomily, but kept his vocaliser shut._

 _"I know it must be-"_

 _"What?" Sideswipe snapped, slight animosity hitting his tone as his irritation sparked._

 _Ratchet shifted, "You know," He cut himself off, "Look I'm not good at this, but-"_

 _Sideswipe held up a hand, and Ratchet fought off a scowl at the action, "Look, I'm fine, really."_

 _He gave what hoped what was an assuring smile to Ratchet, but it must of come out strained, and the medic frowned, optic ridge furrowing._

 _"Sideswipe, you and I both know that's a lie," He sighed, and his voice softened, "I just want to make sure you're okay, I look out for you, kid."_

 _Ratchet offered Sideswipe a rare smile, the kind where his faceplates wrinkled and his nose scrunched._

 _A soft hand came to rest gently on his shoulder, "It's my job."_

 _Sideswipe shifted at the words, spark lightening considerably, and he couldn't help but lean lightly into the touch, ventilations huffing softly as he glanced up at the medic._

 _The frontliner paused, and he bit his lip as his spark shifted, processor whirring._

 _He often wondered if he should tell, debating with himself about whether or not it would be a good idea to go to Ratchet about his spark, about his feelings, the odd occurrences. Because it had to be a medical reason, and who better to offer an explanation than the CMO himself._

 _He almost did, because Ratchet had always cared. Sure, he was a firm believer in tough love, but there was a certain gentleness to it that always told him more than words ever could._

 _His mouth opened, and Ratchet looked on expectantly, but Sideswipe's spark jerked, twisting in its casing as he looked away, vocaliser falling flat to hot air._

 _Ratchet sighed, but patted Sideswipe's shoulder, "Let's just get through this thing alright? I'll be here."_

 _Be there for who._

 _Sideswipe still didn't understand why others were acting like he_ needed _the extra support._

()()()()()()()()()

"I thought we were friends, Smokescreen."

Smokescreen frowned, but quickly schooled his expression. "We are."

"Then why am I here."

Smokescreen leaned back in his chair, "I think you can answer that question better than I can, Sideswipe."

"Really?"

Smokescreen nodded, and cast an expectant look at the front liner, "Yes."

Sideswipe shifted in his seat, expression sour as he stared back at the gambler, "I'm here because about every fraggin' officer on this base ordered me to."

Smokescreen laced his hands together, "For a good reason, too."

"Oh, and what might that be?" He shifted irritably in his seat, spark taking on a dark thrum as he glared at Smokescreen, "Please, tell me. Because you all sure as hell seem to know something I don't. Or am I missing something?"

The sharpness to his tone had Smokescreen leaning back, optics skittering over a tense frame as he pondered, "No, I don't think so."

Sideswipe laughed, and Smokescreen almost flinched at the harshness of it, "I don't think so. Whatever it is that you're thinking, I'm about a thousand miles away."

"I think," Smokescreen started, "That you're avoiding the subject."

Sideswipe scowled, "What subject?"

Smokescreen rose an optic ridge, and Sideswipe watched with irritation as his faceplates took on the same look that Prowl had given him when he had been tip toeing around the frontliner.

He was obviously pondering over the right words, and it was wearing on Sideswipes patience.

"Is this session almost over?"

"Sideswipe, we just started."

Sideswipe groaned, "Shouldn't I be put with some other phycologist? I mean since we're friends and all."

"There is no one else."

"Oh."

Smokescreen nodded, and offered a crooked smile, scribbling something down in his datapad, which had Sideswipe scowling all over again.

Okay.

Maybe a different approach.

"Anything on your mind?"

"Not really."

Smokescreen leaned forward, "Nothing bothering you?"

Sideswipe frowned, "No."

However well hidden, Smokescreen still felt the spike in his field. That alone told Smokescreen everything.

"I understand it might be difficult to talk-"

"Talk about what!" Sideswipe snapped.

"Well, Sunstreaker."

Sideswipe offered him a deadpanned look, "Why would that be difficult to talk about?"

For once Smokescreen looked at loss, and Sideswipe leaned smugly back into his chair.

"Uh, look I don't know how to put it-"

The scene tipped, dissolving into fizzing particles as the edges faded to black, and Sideswipe jerked from recharge.

His ventilations were working themselves overtime, swelling in with hurried, short breaths that had him gasping.

Sideswipe felt his chest tighten, and not from the usual weight that was on his spark. This was coming from his stomach, and when it reached and filled his spark, it had his processor spinning.

His ventilations struggled to bring in oxygen, and even though he didn't need to breath, the build-up of hot air was choking his throat and burning his insides.

The raw panic that had grasped his spark refused to let go, continuing to cloud his HUD and assault his processor with a vigour he'd never experienced before as he flailed and sobbed.

He rolled off the berth, armour rattling as his vision clouded, optics flickering.

He felt like he was dying, like his spark was guttering in on itself as it took all of his clear thoughts with it.

The sensation of not been able to control his gears and limbs, and the white noise in his audials only served to fuel his panic, and his processor continued to dig itself even further into the panicked hole it had burrowed itself into.

His fingers wrenched into the floor, prying and scratching at the ground, black paint scraping free as his digits scrambled and caught in the cracks of the cement.

 _Yellow servos, skittering over the seams of his casing as fiery embers flew behind a scarred face._

His spark slowed from the furious thumping it had taken, so suddenly that it left him gasping in a long breath, and he let his helm clunk to the ground, neck straining from holding it up for so long.

For once his spark wasn't jerking around, only gently bumbling along, brushing along his spark casing in a soothing embrace.

His optics were flickering, and his faceplates were eschewed with a scrunched nasal ridge and the frozen 'O' shape his mouth had taken in the midst of a watery sob.

A shaky sigh escaped his ventilations, and he tried to desperately calm his rattling armour and shaking servos.

The hard floor was digging into his protoform, and he realized with a short jerk that he had fallen and rolled onto Sunstreaker's side of the room.

Dust had built up, getting onto his armour and into his joints, and he let out an irritated chuff, ventilations sending the particles flying in the air, only to be sucked back in when his respiratory in-vented once more.

Once they had settled, and Sideswipe spark had calmed into a lazy thumping, he turned his head to the side and pressed his faceplates into the cool cement, optics flickering off as he concentrated on the soft huffs of his ventilations.

He ran a gentle hand over his armour, and could feel all the scratches, dents and scuff marks that lingered on his body from avoiding the washracks. He never realized just how many mechs were in there, and seemingly at all fragging times of the day.

So he stopped going, and lost track of just how long ago it was that'd he properly washed, or refueled, or _slept._

How long ago was Sunstreakers death?

His spark jerked in its casing, and he flushed the thought from his processor, digging his cheek further into the floor.

Well, if his dull red paint was anything to go by, Sideswipe assumed that he hadn't done anything properly for deca-cycles now.

He sighed, and flickered on his optics again to watch the dust roll across the ground, only stopping when his chuffs of air became softer and they collided with the line of dust that had collected under Sunstreaker's berth, the boxes underneath coated so much it was hard to see the natural blackness underneath.

Sideswipe stared, and his spark thrummed in curiosity.

A sharp knock on the door jerked him from his thoughts, and he flinched in surprise, letting out a sharp breath as his optics widened.

There was another harsh knock.

Maybe they would go away if he ignored them.

"Sideswipe!"

Said mech flinched at the bark, and he did his best to ignore the rest of Ratchets growling.

After another breem of the incessant snapping and pounding at the door, he switched his audials off and stared blessedly at the now silent door.

Until it slid open and a livid CMO stepped inside, yelling things that fell flat to the air when Sideswipe didn't bother to turn his audials back on.

Ratchet leaned down next to him, said something sharp and tapped at Sideswipe's audial horns.

His optics flickered off.

A ping dropped into his HUD, and he opened his comm units reluctantly.

' _Turn on your fragging audials before I rip them on off and turn you into a toaster.'_

Sideswipe sighed, and a gentler tap to his helm made him reluctantly power his optics and audials back on.

'-do you think you're doing!"

Sideswipe blinked blearily up at the medic, "What?"

Ratchet huffed, "I said, what the frag do you think you're doing?"

Sideswipe tried to offer an innocent smile, but even he could tell it came out strained,

"Resting?"

Ratchet raised an unimpressed optic ridge, "On the floor?"

"Yup."

Ratchet ran a non-approving eye over his prone form, a scowl briefly twitching at his lips as he scanned Sideswipe. His expression fell lax, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back onto the frame of the berth.

Sideswipe supposed it was a good sign that the medical scan hadn't picked up anything irregular within his spark.

"When's the last time you refuelled?"

Sideswipe opened his mouth to reply, but Ratchet cut him off, "And _don't_ lie."

"I can't remember," Sideswipe mumbled irritably, optics casting off to the side so he could stare at Sunstreaker's belongings once more.

Ratchet followed his gaze, and it instantly softened when it came to a rest on the boxes.

It annoyed Sideswipe to no end, and he wished people would stop with the 'soft on Sideswipe' nonsense. He told them as much, that they didn't have to coddle him or treat him weirdly. Most looked guilty when he called them out, optics dimming as they stared at him in sympathy. It only served to irritate him more, and he no longer cared that he hardly saw any of his friends anymore.

With the way they tip toed around him, acting like everything was tense between them and treating him like glass, he was glad they weren't interacting anymore.

Or maybe it was because he hadn't treated them all that nicely since he had woken in the medbay.

"Sideswipe?"

"Yes?"

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, "You just blanked out on me."

Sideswipe hummed a sour note, "Oh."

"Everything alright?"

"I'm not answering that question."

Concern instantly spiked in Ratchet's field, "Why?"

"Because every time I give you an answer, you don't take it seriously."

Ratchet frowned, "That's because I know you're not telling the truth."

Sideswipe groaned, and cut off Ratchets scoff, "I am though! That's thing, _I am._ Really, I am," He stressed, helm jerking away from Ratchets servo.

Ratchet removed his digits, shaking his head, "Kid, I know you better than that, and I think I might have some fraggin idea as to what's going on here."

"What?" Sideswipe grumbled.

Ratchet offered him a long look of pity, as if he should know the answer, and Sideswipe immediately jerked his EM field back, irritation spiking as he huffed.

"I think you need to go back to Smokescreen, this isn't healthy."

Sideswipe scowled, "Ratchet, if this is all you're going to talk, no nag me about, then you can frag the hell off."

"I'm just looking out for you, kid. And if something isn't done this is going to get worse before it gets better."

"But I'm fine, so why should I?" Sideswipe's voice had raised with Ratchet's, and despite the medics attempt to placate the situation, his temper go the better of him.

"Why the frag do you think!"

The angry bark had Sideswipe jerking his head back, mouth agape as he searched for the right words.

Ratchet huffed, "Look, I cannot even begin to understand-"

"No, you can, a lot better than me because I got no fragging clue what you're going on about."

Ratchet stared at Sideswipe, optics flickering over his dented frame, the dim light of his optics illuminating the grim, angry look on his face.

"You need to refuel," He eventually muttered, after looking long and hard at Sideswipe, "Come on, I'll go to the rec-room with you."

"No, thanks."

Ratchet pulled himself to his feet, "Kid, if you don't get off your aft and get some fuel into your systems I'll drag you to the med bay and hook you on an IV for the rest of the cycle."

An orange servo was offered, but Sideswipe ignored the gesture to instead start the slow process of getting his wobbly pedes to stand on their own.

His systems protested, the lack of fuel finally catching up to him as he toppled to the side, vision dizzy as he attempted to focus on the white legs in front of him.

Servos grasped his shoulders and pulled him up, and he stumbled into the rough embrace of Ratchet, whose fingers seemed to dig especially hard into his plating, and for a second Sideswipe mistook the shaking of Ratchets armour to be his own.

"Ratch?"

A shaky sigh escaped slow ventilations, and the servos around his frame tightened, "I'm glad I didn't lose you too."

What?

Sideswipe thought Ratchet _hated_ Sunstreaker.

Despite himself, and his confusion, he let his head fall onto Ratchets shoulder, and he reminded himself as his own ventilations shuddered, that if there was anyone he could trust, fall into, it was Ratchet.

"It's alright, kid."

He already knew that.

His spark jolted, twisting sharply and he gasped at the harsh tug, pain assaulting his sensors. Ratchets grip loosened, mistaking the gasp of pain to be from his own tight hold.

For a second he almost considered telling Ratchet about the chest pains, his spark, his nightmares, everything, and how he really didn't think everything was alright, because he was confused. Terrified of his own mind and what it created when his optics were shut.

He didn't tell anyone that he was terrified of his nightmares following him into reality.

So for the second time that orn, he kept his vocaliser shut, and ignored the trepidation pulsing from his spark.

* * *

The rec-room was bustling with mechs, and Sideswipe's EM field burst with uncharacteristic irritation when he had to manoeuvre and brush pass people to get his cube.

Usually crowds didn't bother him.

With aggravation on his spark, he found the most secluded table in the room, and stalked over to it.

Sunstreaker's table.

He sat, ignoring the curious, pitying looks the other Autobots shot at him, while wondering if he was going to hear the alarm again, and get sent to the frontlines to be caught in another explosion.

Because it was his turn, right?

He wondered who else would get caught in it, if they would carry around the same confusion and guilt regarding his death.

If only it were the other way around. If he was dead and Sunstreaker was alive. It would have been easier, Sunstreaker would not have cared for his death, nor would he have dug himself so far into his processor as he had. No, Sunstreaker wasn't like that, wasn't like _him._

He supposed it was cruel, to wish his death and grievance onto others, onto his friends, onto Ratchet. Because it was always the living that suffered when someone died.

But then maybe it would be better for Sideswipe, to be dead, to not have to sit here in his pathetic corner with his jumbled, fragged up mind.

His cube still sat untouched on the table, and Sideswipe couldn't bring himself to take a sip, even when his empty tanks began to throb in a dull ache.

Ratchet had dropped him off by his scruff bar, sharply telling him that if he didn't refuel he'd get a tube down his throat for the rest of his life. Sideswipe had grumbled, and wandered into the rec-room with irritation in his field as Ratchet hurried back to the med bay, saying he'd join him in a bit.

Sideswipe really didn't want anyone to join him, and was glad for the wide berth everyone was giving him. Probably because he had been such a fragger for the last couple of deca-cycles.

He could care less if they didn't like him, because with the way they were all treating him, he was beginning to dislike _them._

At yet another side eye from Tracks, and a deft reroute from Bluestreak so he didn't have to pass Sideswipe on his way to the energon dispenser, Sideswipe wondered if this was how Sunstreaker felt.

If so, he supposed that it was why the mech was always so surly and grumpy.

But Sunstreaker was hard to completely understand, and if he were still alive, Sideswipe didn't think he could be bothered to figure the extensive, complicated map of the yellow front liners mind.

His spark gave a particularly hard jerk, and his elbow flicked out to knock at his energon cube.

A few gazes were drawn his way, but they averted their optics at Sideswipes glare, and he rubbed at his plating irritably as he moved the cube away from the small pool of energon that had sloshed over the edges.

He settled back in his chair, face glum as he stared into the swirling pink depths of his energon. Much more interesting than the faces of his fellow Autobots, who just couldn't keep their noses out of his business.

His empty tanks grumbled, but he ignored the uncomfortable feeling, fingers twitching at his side as his spark gave another particularly hard jerk.

"Sideswipe."

Great.

Sideswipe didn't bother to glance up, "I am drinking it." He grasped the cube and brought it to his lips for emphasis, optics ridges raised with mocking innocence.

Ratchet harrumphed, but shifted his gaze so he could settle in the chair opposite Sideswipe.

"Doesn't look like you've had much."

"I'm getting there."

The two fell into a tense silence, and Sideswipe wondered if he had severed all his ties with his friends that badly.

His spark thumped in wavering guilt when he realized that he really didn't care. And it made him all the more guiltier when he realized that at least one of them still cared about _him._

"Sideswipe."

"What?"

Ratchet frowned, "You keep blanking out on me."

Sideswipe slouched in his chair, he'd been losing himself to his thoughts a lot lately.

"Maybe you should at least consider going to Smokescreen."

"Why?"

"Because I'm worried about you. Heck, just about everyone else is."

Sideswipe didn't understand why that would make him want to pour his heart out to anyone, if anything, the reminder that everyone kept treating him like glass only served to make him _more_ irritable.

It seemed like surliness and irritability had been his only emotions for the last couple of deca-cycles, but heck, Sideswipe had a good reason.

Or at least he thought had had a valid reason.

Ratchet, Smokescreen, and pretty much everyone else on the Ark seemed to disagree.

"You shouldn't worry because I'm fine."

"Really?"

Sideswipe scoffed, "Now you sound like Smokescreen."

"Well, if you would talk to him maybe I wouldn't have to."

"Didn't know you were such an expert in psychology."

Ratchet shrugged, "I've had basic training, every medic has."

"I'm not interested."

"Sideswipe, if you keep this up you won't have much of a choice."

Sideswipe huffed, "As if I had much of a choice the first time."

Ratchet growled, "Well what do you expect, you lost your-"

()()()

Sideswipe trailed off, ventilations venting irritably as he stared at Smokescreen, "That's all I remember."

Smokescreen frowned, optic ridge furrowed as he stared down at his datapad, "Are you sure?"

Sideswipe nodded, and checked his chronometer for what seemed like the hundredth time that session.

Smokescreen, as if reading his mind, smirked, "Times not up yet, Sideswipe."

"I know."

"Tell me, is the memory foggy from then on, or can you remember bits of it? Anything at all?"

Sideswipe shook his head, "I can't remember anything. It's just blank, like it's gone from my memory banks."

Smokescreen hummed, scribbling something down, and Sideswipe wished the session would just hurry up and finish, he was itching to move his limbs and to not have someone stare imploringly down at him

"Has this happened before?"

"What?"

"Losing pieces of your memories, forgetting things."

Sideswipe shrugged, "I guess."

"Can you elaborate?"

"No."

Smokescreen's doorwings twitched, and Sideswipe smirked.

"Any particular reason you haven't been refuelling or self-maintaining properly?"

"Just haven't felt like it."

"Feeling anything irregular within your spark?"

Sideswipe froze, and shot a glare at Smokescreen, "How many more questions will there be?"

"Just answer the question, Sideswipe."

"My spark is fine."

Smokescreen leaned forward, "Are you sure? You've been rubbing your chest throughout the entire session."

"It's just- nothing."

Smokescreen frowned when Sideswipe's servo rose to his chest plating once more, almost subconsciously, and he quickly scribbled something down, "Sideswipe, I don't want to ignore something that could be detrimental to your health."

"It's not."

"Can you at least describe to me what you're feeling?"

Sideswipe huffed, "How can I describe something that isn't there."

Smokescreen gave him a disbelieving look, "Just give it ago."

Sideswipe hesitated, spark spinning heavily in its casing before he finally opened his mouth, "It feels heavy."

"In what way?"

"Like something is weighing it down, and it makes my chest feel heavy."

"Is it comfortable?"

Sideswipe rubbed at his chest, "Sometimes."

"Does the pain ever go further than just 'uncomfortable'?"

Sideswipe shifted in his seat, "Yes..."

"How bad?"

"It jerks and tugs around, which sends a sort of aching through my circuits, and a sharp pain through one side my spark."

"Only one side?"

"Yes, the right."

"For how long?"

"Since the explosion."

Smokescreen stared, and Sideswipe fidgeted under the heavy gaze, doing his best to ignore the analysing optics ticking away in front of a whirring processor.

"I'm cutting this session short."

"Why?"

Smokescreen tucked the datapad away and stood up, "Because I think you need to go to the med bay."

Sideswipe stumbled to his feet, following Smokescreen as he strode from the office, "What, why?"

"Well, for one, that doesn't sound healthy at all, and two, you've left this alone for way too long. You need a spark scan."

"I don't want to go to the medbay, I don't need to!"

"You will," Smokescreen said sharply, sounding more like Prowl than himself, and any other time Sideswipe would have chortled at the comparison.

"It might be nothing, Sideswipe. Just go to med bay, and get your sparked scanned."

Sideswipe scowled, and pushed pass Smokescreen, "Fine. Are we done with the sessions now?"

Smokescreen shook his head, "Not even close."

* * *

He stalked back through the halls with an unwavering irritation that was quickly veering into anger, and he tried his best to keep his temper in check as he rounded the corner to the medbay.

It was quiet when Sideswipe stepped inside, devoid of Ratchet's usual air of crankiness and explosive profanity.

"Uh, hello?" He rapped gently on the wall when the whoosh of the doors failed to alert anyone to his presence.

"Yes, coming!"

That was definitely not Ratchet.

"Oh. Hey, First Aid."

First Aid came hurrying out of the storeroom, looking much too overwhelmed by just one person.

"Uh, hi, Sideswipe. Can I help you?"

Sideswipe stepped further into the bay, "Yeah, where's Ratchet?"

"He's in a meeting. "

"Oh," Sideswipe shrugged, "I'll come back later then."

 _Or not at all_.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Sideswipe paused, half turned to leave as he considered.

He didn't particularly trust the medic as much as he did Ratchet, but he supposed that getting it over and done with was better than suffering through Ratchets wrath when he figures out that Sideswipe had kept the fact that something was wrong with his _spark_ , a secret.

Yes, he would very much prefer First Aid.

"Uh, you know how to do spark scans?"

"I do, anything in particular that you're worried about?"

Sideswipe perched himself on the end of the berth, "Not really."

"Okay then."

Sideswipe watch in amusement as First Aid dragged over a machine much bigger than himself, the large monitoring screen knocking against his head each time he dragged it over a bump in the floor.

Sideswipe snickered, and supposed he deserved the hard pinch to his lines when First Aid began attaching the seemingly endless supply of wires and connecting cables to his frame.

"Symptoms?"

"My spark burns, and one half of it sends bursts of pain into my sensor net."

First Aid's visor furrowed, and Sideswipe guessed that he was frowning under his mask.

"Is that bad?"

"It depends."

Sideswipe frowned as the monitor flicked to life, illuminating a blurred picture of his pulsing spark.

"Open your chest plates please."

The armour parted, the beginnings of dizzying anxiety assaulting his sensor net as the image focused and cleared, the spark pulsing in its casing as First Aid zoomed in and studied the image. Probably already seeing small details that any other person would miss, and Sideswipe hiked an optic ridge when First Aid closely observed the seemingly normal looking outline of his spark.

The prodding, peering and vulnerability of his spark eventually started to grate on his nerves, and he shifted on the berth, spark beginning to thump erratically in its casing.

First Aid must have taken it for nervousness, and the medic ignored the frantic spark beat as he shifted his gaze from the monitor to Sideswipe spark itself.

It partly was, and each time First Aid leaned in particularly close to his spark, it jerked in panic. He tried to keep a reign on his erratic ventilations, doing his best to keep them slow and steadied, not willing to draw attention to his slow fall into panic.

"Everything seems fine," He muttered eventually, "But I might have to get Ratchet to take a closer look, because there is one thing-"

"That won't be necessary."

Sideswipe was already disconnecting cables and pulling wires out, tossing them to the floor as he stood.

"Be careful- Sideswipe wait!"

Sideswipe ignored the small medic as he strode from the room, spark thrumming darkly in its casing as he flicked off his audials, fingers twitching as the right side of his spark twisted and jerked in its casing.

He was veering into another panic, or hysteria, he didn't know what to call it, and the fact that he couldn't figure out what was setting it off, only served to panic him further.

First Aid bounced nervously on his pedes, pondering anxiously on whether to relay the information to Ratchet, or to chase after the front liner.

He shouted out once more, but was ignored as Sideswipe disappeared from view.

The spark scan was technically fine, and even though Sideswipe was in no immediate danger, sparks just weren't supposed to do… _that._


End file.
